When I was a kid a read this book where the child-narrator divided up his day according to its tally of triumphs and/or disasters, so that chapters would occasionally end with something like:

Disasters 2, Triumphs 0

It was a great book and if anyone knows what it was called please tell me so I can look out for it for Syd. Anyway since then I have frequently found myself reverting to the use of this system to record even the slightest highs and lows in my life. Today, for instance, which has been my last chance at doing something useful creatively after almost a week off work, started fairly badly. I regard the time that I am not flogging mung beans to cranky eccentrics or listening to someone say “Tractor! Tractor! Lorry! Car!” as fairly important, if not actually sacred, and I like to feel like I have used it to the full. Usually, however, through a combination of my own lack of discipline and reality randomly giving me a hard time, I end up with not nearly enough done as I’d wanted to and feeling like I am running to stand still. This leaves me with the depressing feeling that not only am I wasting my life but that I am not even capable of wasting it in the manner I intend. So today I entered my room at about 8:25 am and fired up Logic Audio with the aim of getting something concrete achieved. About an hour later I had blown up my compressor that I had paid Â£40 for last month and was searching for a screwdriver that I eventually realized had been lost by my brother last week. Then my computer did one of its random shutdowns while I was doing something and I was reduced to tearless sobs of frustration and shouts of rage at inanimate objects and imagined evil entities (possibly working together). So it continued for much of the morning, but this afternoon has been a bit better. First off Syd went to sleep on the way home from nursery in the hoped-for manner, and Sam said she would take him afterwards, which means I’m good for a couple more hours freedom than I thought I’d have. In addition, my Ilpo Vaisanen 10″s finally arrived from Germany, and hadn’t been stolen by a sure-to-be disappointed postman as I’d come to suspect. I’d already been down the depot once to collect what turned out to be my brother’s degree certificate on another day when I was desperately trying not to waste time. Anyway I’m listening to them now at the wrong speed (33rpm) and they’re almost suspiciously right up my alley. They’re modelled (I think) on Jamaican dubplates and (being 10s as well) are almost too fetishistic. Great slabs of sound coming out of my 8 speakers. Fucking amazing. Worth every…hey, what do Euros subdivide into?

Last night I was trying to persuade Ed Eggboy that he and his brother needed to wear Ancient Briton costumes for Eggboy gigs. Do any readers concur with this bloody brilliant idea? Just imagine it â€“ the eggdance, the knob-twiddling, Jon in pigtails…

Managed to track down the Jamie Mearns diary website again. Essential reading for all fans of desperation/humour.

My Audiomulch mailing list has gone political bananas. Some crazy poet left the following off-list outrage:

you might read this you might find it’s not about machines, completely and delete.

i’m at an end a beginning i’d wish to think and i’m stuck kicking and screaming.

you people, you wonderful people. i know have (quote) intelligence (end quotes) and resources, so i’m going to you, now.

it’s about to explode.

the television, the radio, the newspaper, get in your car, turn on your computer, walk outside, open up a book, go to the library, the movies, the clubs, the music, and obviously the stores.

it’s all the same information, from the same few places.

it’s all ignoring what’s really happening. inundating us all with mist.

and now. the more i care. the more i know. the more i can’t stop shaking.

the US government is throwing cluster bombs in the faces of innocent afghanis, were destroying youth, innocence, nature, beauty, peace, and life all over this godamned world. and the other governments are responding with more of the same. and it’s all in the name of what? pride, greed, progress, and masculinity?

were subjugating every bit of death that is committed, daily – weekly – yearly, with movies, music, objects, technology, sports, and half-assed slanted medias all owned by the same 8 fucking people that are directly and indirectly related to the US government and their economic interests.

we’re killing so many. starving so many. spending so much on weapons. tearing everything apart.

and every “artist” i know doesn’t want to hear it, we’ve all been coerced into technology worship and advert production. more spreading of bloody propaganda.

i can’t stop crying. i can’t stop screaming.

i used to spend 12 hours or so a day focused on/ working on “my art and music” that was suppose to open up the minds and eyes, ears and lives of people. lead them to freedom. bullshit. now i just get thrown out of wal-mart and the mall, thrown out of everywhere, laughed at, ignored . . . no one seems to care.

what do we do?

this population. this world does matter. the people in it are real. and they are killing them. they are slaughtering them. they are destroying nature, where it all came from. they’re destroying spirit, morale, life, love, simplicity, reality, compassion, and truth.

and while we’re writing code. buying dvd burners. going to shows. worrying about software, harddrives, crashes, and data. while this is going on in our heads, information by the minority of those that know and care is getting spread around (on this very fucking internet) to deaf and blind ears and eyes.

and people everywhere are falling on their faces, blood pouring out the back of their heads, who’ve never had a dream in their lives other than will i eat again before i die.

i don’t know what to say. how to make any difference.

i just want to crawl out in the woods and die. alone. because everyone else is to busy to stop. too busy to go hungry one day to fight a war that might kill billions. too busy planning their next performance or their next job than finding the truth of what these governments are really doing and how we might band together to change it. to stop it. to give people in the world a chance at what people like us have already grown used to.

this is change. this is pain. i’m sitting on the edge of something deep, destructive, and densly chaotic and all i can do, anymore, is smoke fucking r.j.renolds cigarettes and wipe the salt water from my face with kleenex

somebody help me.

please.

At which point some dude responded with:

Hey, let’s give the politics a rest on this list. Yes, I did the same back when. I’m an old timer who took part in the anti-War demonstrations back in the 1960s. I’ve seen it all. And I’m here to tell you that talking about the “Imperialist West” is a bunch of hooey.

Further, I will venture that few are ever convinced to change their mind about politics through music. Yes, if you hate the war, feel oppressed, or whatever, the music might build on your emotions. But it is a mistake to think you’re going to change world politics by strumming some chords on a guitar or creating a wall of harsh sounds.

Here’s the truth: Governments run on money, people are influenced by actions and words. That means if you’re a rich and famous musician, you might write some lyrics that will influence a few fans, or shoot off your mouth on an evening talk show, or bribe (oopss… I mean give a campaign contribution) to a politician. But that’s about it unless you’re willing to give up your lifestyle and join one side or the others army.

I saw the Vietnam War end and with it not just some but all freedom in Vietnam and a horrendous slaughter of intellectuals — musicians included — in Cambodia. Nothing like the racks of skulls on display in Cambodia, the vast majority belonging to poets, artists and other intellectuals — to suggest that maybe things aren’t quite as bad as we pampered college students in the US and Europe thought they were for us. Nothing like bodies piled up in a city square to suggest that maybe “Western Imperialism” wasn’t quite as bad an alternative as we had thought. Nothing like thinking that had the US succeeded in driving out communism, a lot of those folks would still be producing poems, music, and movies as well as simply enjoying being alive. Millions of the dead argue that there are things worse than American imperialism.

I will suggest that the plane and simple truth is that you should avoid spouting off about how oppressed we are here in the West until you’ve spent a week in Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, or Palestine. And when you do that, you should also try pointing out to the locals how much better off they’d be if they held a vote to see who will lead them. Maybe you can suggest that women should be equal to men. See where that gets you. See if they treat their prisoners as well as we do in the West.

Yes, there are things worse than Western imperialism. And I would suggest that for a lot of the people living outside of the West, the best thing that could happen to them in terms of freedom would be to have their governments overthrown and to have good old capitalism move in and get them out of mud and stone huts and into the 21st Century.

“All we are saying, is give peace a chance” has been tried. Been there, done that. Didn’t work. Am guilty a
s charged.

Today I find it a bit disingenuous for folks to be living off the fat of the land produced in the West and enjoying our freedoms, to be griping about our lack of freedom (heck, just complaining about such in Iraq, China, or other places outside of Western governments, you’d be thrown in jail — if you were lucky). Yes, I was guilty of the same in the 1960s; perhaps this is part of youth. But when it is said and done, while the West has its faults and blood on its hands, this pales when compared to the torture and slaughters that regularly go on in most other non-Western nations. The US has nothing to equal the Rwanda slaughter; England doesn’t regularly jail anyone who speaks their mind, the Australians don’t make it a habit to throw dissidents into jail. There is no moral equivalence here: The West is way more free and permits much more descent. The Western life style permits the arts and science to flourish.

If you want to rant about the American and British imperialism, that’s fine. It is a mistake, but it is your privilege in our free societies. But let’s go somewhere else instead of the AM list to do it. Not everyone agrees that we shouldn’t be tracking down folks who think it’s just fine to slaughter innocents in various locales around the world, from night clubs in Germany and Indonesia to the World Trade Towers. If you really want to help support folks who build car bombs full of nails, if you want to agonize about Western imperialism and whether you hurt someone by purchasing excessively, please do it somewhere else. I have done the same in the past (and yes, this diatribe is a case in point), but worrying it over in posts is not what this discussion group is about, is it?

The bottom line is that most of us on this list where we like it or not are living in the most free society history has ever known. To pretend otherwise is off the mark, and to gripe about it on this list is offensive to some and therefore inappropriate.

My 2 cents worth, from an old war protester who now owns firearms and supports Western culture as the lesser of evils.

I leave the web address in because his website is a bit of a smoking gun in itself. Anyway, the list has suddenly left behind the usual discussions concerning VST plug-ins and midi controllers and is now a war of words between (mainly) European liberals and reactionary American cuntfuckers like Mr. Long. Its great!

I dunno. Its symptomatic of some crazy shit happening in this world, he wrote, a bit like Sarah Jessica parker. All this sniper shit, and the Russian theatre hostages, and John Leslie raping people behind the sets. It’s fucked.

In the light of my brother’s emigration to Australia (you heard it here first, possibly) he has come up with a genius idea. He proposes the concept of Um International, whereby he will perform Um songs in the antipodes as a prototype for similar Um outposts across the globe in the future. Applications are welcomed henceforth, and it should be noted that we are particularly seeking representatives for Um International from the African and Asian continents. On the other hand, we see no reason why there shouldn’t be more domestic Ums, as its all grist to our mill, and anyone requesting an Um Performance kit (backing CD/ lyrics â€“ costumery is not provided) will be sent one at cost price. On a related note I should point out that I am hoping to begin performing some Rob Jesus songs (although not as Rob Jesus, that would be stupid) once he leaves, which in all likelihood means that his music stands to be heard more often in his absence than when he is actually resident here in the UK.

Horrendous windfall record-wise in Resale recently, but tinged with greed frustrated because I’m told by a reliable source of Cypriot extraction that I missed out big style on the original motherlode. Apparently this massive collection of late 80s/early 90s indie stuff came in on a Friday or something, and I didn’t get there until the following Wednesday, which is a long time in these scenarios. However, there was so much stuff that even though some lucky fuck had already walked out having spent Â£70 (I heard), I still got to get my hands on vast amounts of noisy crap. Bizarrely, a load of metal had come in at nearly the same time, and had I not had to spend so much dough on The Butthole Surfers and the like, I would have started and completed my Slayer collection at a single visit. We’re also talking Bolthrower, Nuclear Assault, Possessed, Sabat, Carcass and many, many more.

However, I did buy:

The Butthole Surfers: Widowermaker EP (2nd copy in as many months), Locust Abortion Technician. Big Black: Songs About Fucking, Atomizer (2nd copy for me), The Sound Of Impact (only thing I bought that is actually a collector’s item, although not the rarer issue, and I actually bought it thinking it was a black box flight recording of doomed planes â€“ it was 50p) The Jesus Lizard: Head, Pure. The On-U Sound Present: Pay It All Back Volume 4 The Pooh Sticks: Pooh Sticks (singles collection) The Beastie Boys: Licence To Ill (already own this on various formats, including vinyl) Public Enemy: Apocalypse 91 Mark Stewart â€“ Metatron AR Kane: 69 EPMD: Strictly Business Firehose: If’n, Fromohio Various Blast First: Nothing Short Of Total War Thee Hypnotics: Live’r Than God A Guy Called Gerald: Hot Lemonade Ciccone Youth: The Whitey Album The Fall: The Wonderful & Frightening World Of, Code Selfish, Live At The Witch Trials, Grotesque The Perfect Disaster: Asylum Road MC 900 Ft Jesus: Hell With The Lid Off Screaming Trees: Buzz Factory The Pastels: Sittin’ Pretty, Up For A Bit With I, Ludicrous: A Warning To The Curious, (left behind the other LP which was actually worth something) 14 Iced Bears: Precision The KLF: The White Room (apparently I missed “The What Time Is Love Story” LP, which is in the book for 40 notes, so Mr. Christoforou has a copy for sale if you’re interested) Loop: Fade Out (been after this for ages) Barmy Army: The English Disease Le Mystere Des Voix Bulgares: Volume 2 Pussy Galore: Dial M For Motherfucker (well chuffed with this) Rapeman: 2 Nuns And A Pack Mule (good to have a spare of this great LP) Happy Mondays: Bummed (to go with my other one) Renegade Soundwave: Cocaine Sex 12″

Over the years me and Andy (who helps me with computers) have developed the concept of “the voodoo”, which is the evil force that is trying to put Um out of business. The evil force is pretty smart. It just fucks with my computer, and because I don’t know too much about computers I can never tell whether it’s just me or not. Basically I’ve had three PCs that have had the habit of switching themselves off (and sometimes on, like when you’re lying in bed caned at night and the room is suddenly bathed in an evil blue glow) and then eventually just eventually refusing to work altogether. The one I had before my new one (which, uh, switches itself off occasionally) managed to fry its power supply, which also took out the motherboard, the processor, the CD Rom, the CD writer and the hard-drive, which, for the digitally challenged, is most of a computer. So anyway, for a while I’ve been out of action PC-wise, which is at least part of the reason, along with ale, responsibilities, wholefood retail commitments and a grotesque personal lack of focus, why this so-called diary has been updated so laughably infrequently of late. So I’ve got to get on the case.

Dreamt last night of wandering around labyrinthine building stuffed with antique furniture with Sam and my mother, who seemed to want to purchase large wooden items for my brother. Found myself unable to refer to the bleeding obvious fact that he is shortly moving to Australia (on a budget) and doesn’t need ornately carved mahogany cabinets. Then a tsunami struck the building and its many rooms swelled quickly with water. I was terrified. Then I awoke and had to make Syd his Weetabix.

The other night though, I had a cracker of a dream. Sam (I think) and I were passing a skip. A young, fairly smartly dressed woman was examining its contents, which looked like builder’s rubble and some unpromising household crap. “Â£15 for the lot” she said aggressively. I gave her a look as if to say, “I know the rules concerning skip diving” which seemed to shut her up. I then climbed into the skip and immediately found some 7″ singles piled up against one side. When I examined them I discovered that they appeared to be by Howard Jones, but not Howard Jones in his spiky-haired veggie synth-pop persona, but rather Howard Jones in his (non-existent save for in dreams) role as children’s entertainer. The records were obviously aimed for the kiddie market, and even had a sort of cartoon picture of Jones on the back, only with longer, spikier hair and a kind of Ronald McDonald “hey kids!” grin. There were like about 6 or 7 tunes, with many titles repeated, all in immaculate nick. I snaffled them up and next thing I know we’re in the car and I’m checking out what my Jones booty is worth in the book. Sure enough they’re all in there and worth about Â£7 apiece. However, Neil Suddes, a man of whom it is rumoured that if he flogged his ludicrous record collection would be easily able to buy a fairly decent house, had suddenly, dreamstyle, also appeared and was looking aggrieved in the way that only Neil can. “Now that’s just fucking made my day” he spat, referring to my haul of singles. Ha ha! (This is funny because in real life if it isn’t Venezeulan psych worth Â£80, Neil basically isn’t interested).